


Holy Matrimony, Batman

by klose



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Crack, Family, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Sexy Times, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klose/pseuds/klose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the biggest event in the Gotham society and superhero calendar -- the Grayson-Wayne wedding! But will Dick, caught up fighting a new baddie, end up being late to his own party? Will Bruce, Groomzilla™, have an aneurysm because he wanted a white gardenia for his boutonnière, and not this completely unacceptable white carnation? Most importantly, will someone get Clark a damn handkerchief?! </p><p>[Chapter 1 is rated Teens. Chapter 2 is Explicit for smut.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the wonderful st00pz in the Bruce/Dick Holiday Exchange, though this ended up derailing a lot from the prompt of "Bruce and Dick's Wedding Day". 
> 
> Thanks to Meeya for much-needed cheerleading & smut-advising, and also to Meg for audiencing!

* * *

**3rd April, 11.42pm**  
  
Bruce was just preparing to climb into bed when his cellphone rang. A quick glance at the screen showed Dick’s face grinning up at him, and he didn’t hesitate in answering.   
  
“Dick.”  
  
“What, no hello-future-husband-how-are-you-this-night?” Even over the phone, the dulcet tones of Dick’s laugh made Bruce smile.  
  
“I just wanted to check in on you,” Dick continued. “Heading to bed soon?”  
  
“Just about.”  
  
“Well, good. Babs tells me the others have everything under control, so you know. No need to worry your little head about it.”  
  
Bruce tried not to frown at that. The term “vacation” didn’t really exist in Batman’s vocabulary. It did in Brucie Wayne’s lexicon, of course, but most of the purported island getaways that Bruce supposedly got up to were really just stories cooked up to maintain his so-called himbo playboy image.   
  
At the most, Bruce allowed himself a day off once in a while — and mostly only because Alfred and/or Dick coerced him into it, and because he  _did_  need to set a good example for Damian, who had just as much of an aversion to the concept as he did.  
  
That particular night, however? Well. Bruce thought it was a night when Gotham needed Batman more than ever — if only to ensure everything was safe and ready for the wedding the next day.  
  
The wedding. It was still an unbelievably surreal thought that had Bruce both nervous, and. Maybe a little excited. Everything had to be perfect. He wanted everything to be perfect for Dick.  
  
“… and everything will go great, I promise.”   
  
Bruce blinked, and made a non-committal grunting sort of noise. Fortunately, Dick accepted it.  
  
“Good.” Bruce could practically hear the smile in Dick’s voice. “So… I’ll, um. I’ll see you tomorrow…?”  
  
Hm. Wasn’t that interesting. Dick almost sounded a little — shy. Bruce’s heart, treacherous thing that it was, raced a little faster.  
  
“Yes.” He cleared his throat, hesitating a little to say his next words. “I’ll see you… husband-to-be.”   
  
His face felt suddenly very warm, an entirely unfamiliar feeling given that all he was doing at that moment was talking to Dick, but his lover’s little laugh was enough to chase his embarrassment away.  
  
“Love you, Bruce. See you soon.”  
  
He hung up the phone, and for one last time, checked his suit — Alfred had hung it front and centre inside the walk-in closet — before forcing himself to relax and rid himself of all other thoughts as he climbed into bed. He’d be alone that night, but — after the next day, he’d never be alone again.  
  
  
  
 **3rd April, 11.44pm**  
  
The moment Dick set his phone down, he dialled up Oracle on his comm.   
  
“Something on your mind, Groom Wonder?”  
  
A sense of warmth filled Dick at the silly little nickname. He shook himself off before talking, however — no room for foolishness here, not this night. “Status update, Oracle?”  
  
“Robin and Red Robin just picked up Professor Pyg up in Old Gotham. They didn’t even kill each other before getting him dispatched.”  
  
Dick grinned. “That’s gotta be good sign, if there ever was one.”  
  
“Yes, and it also means you can get yourself off to bed now, handsome. Early morning tomorrow.”  
  
“Tell me again why I agreed to a dawn wedding?”  
  
“I’ve been informed that sunrise over Wayne Estate is the best view you’re going to get this side of the Eastern Seaboard. Only about a hundred times.”  
  
Dick groaned. “Don’t remind me, Bruce only fired five wedding planners over it!”  
  
“Which is why we’re all going to do our best to make sure there aren’t any baddies around to ruin it, handsome. Now do your part and get yourself some rest.”  
  
“You promise to call me if anything goes wrong?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“…”  
  
“… I promise, Dick. If things get out of hand, I’ll give you a ring.”  
  
“Okay.” Dick’s mouth curved up in his sunniest smile — he knew Babs still had a Grayson cam installed somewhere — and cut the comm. He switched over to the police band on his radio, quickly checking it. He’d get some sleep, as ordered by Babs, but Nightwing would be ready for action in a heartbeat if and when necessary. Bruce had worked so hard on organising the wedding, and maybe it was just the fact that he was that much of a perfectionist, but Dick wasn’t going to let anything ruin his man’s efforts. No way.  
  
To that end, he’d spent the better half of the last fortnight making his rounds of Gotham’s criminal element, backed up by Robin — who he’d given free rein to be rough and aggressive, but only for that particular assignment — and telling them very nicely that they’d lay low for the next three weeks if they valued certain parts of their anatomies. Even Gotham’s worst knew that Nightwing was really at his most dangerous when polite.  
  
(Robin had looked confused about the three weeks, but Dick had known what he was doing — one had to account for the honeymoon, after all.)  
  
  
  
 **4th April, 12.21am**  
  
Bruce hadn’t bothered drawing his curtains that night. Moonlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling panelled windows, illuminating the large expanse of his bedroom.  
  
It was quiet, too. Bruce missed the soft sounds of Dick’s even breathing, and the heat of their bodies tangled beneath the sheets. It’d been two weeks since they’d been together, since Dick kept Bruce’s bed warm and full of laughter. They’d both been busy — Bruce with the wedding, on top of the usual, and Dick with… Bruce wasn’t sure, exactly. Something about a wedding present? Bruce hoped it wasn’t a stripper Robin costume.   
  
Well. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad present at all…  
  
Pushing the thought aside for the moment — it was making him warm and stiff in certain places, and it just wouldn’t be the same without Dick around to help him out — Bruce ran through the next morning’s proceedings once more in his head, in an attempt to relax his mind.  


> _0430_  — Wake up call. Alfred to bring up a light repast. To include triple espresso.
> 
> _0500_  — Check downstairs and ensure that 1) caterers have arrived to set up wedding brunch in the patio, 2) photographer is setting up and almost ready to go, and 3) ushers (Tim, Cass, Steph) are groomed and ready to meet guests. Remind Jason to keep Damian away from swords. Remind Damian to keep Jason away from the alcohol.
> 
> _0530_  — Dick to arrive. Meanwhile, get showered and dressed. Note: Use cologne that Dick gifted for birthday.
> 
> _0630_  — Guests to all be seated. Make sure Clark has a packet of tissues. Same for Wally.  ~~Tell security guards to keep all the ninjas out.~~  Tell Tim and Cass to keep all the ninjas out.
> 
> _0645_  — Ceremony to begin, coinciding with sunrise.  ~~Will not cry~~  Keep handkerchief to hand in case Dick starts crying.

Everything was ready. The only thing that was left was to make it to the altar. Running through the programme one last time, Bruce finally allowed himself to relax into the welcoming arms of sleep.  
  
  
  
 **4th April, 3.11am**  
  
Batman gazed down at Robin, the lenses of his cowl masking his eyes behind an impenetrable wall of white.  
  
“I’m disappointed in you, Robin.”   
  
Dick shivered at that low growl, and tried not to wriggle in Batman’s lap. He was too old and big to be perched there, but he was not complaining. “I- I won’t do it again, Batman.”  
  
Batman’s gauntlets pressed into his hips, right into the skin between his tunic and shorts, and Dick tried not to jerk.   
  
“Do what?”  
  
This time, Dick couldn’t keep himself from bucking at the way Batman’s deep, husky voice vibrated right down to his thighs. “I, uh. Um — ” Batman’s hand ghosted down to cup him through his short pants — “Oh!”  
  
“Yes, Robin?”   
  
Oh god, how was he supposed to think when Batman was rubbing him like  _that_? When Robin wasn’t wearing a cup and there was nothing but flimsy green cloth between his crotch and that gloved hand?  
  
“I - ah - I won’t!” Dick gulped down a moan. “I won’t tell the florist that daisies are an acceptable replacement for white tulips!”  
  
Batman’s hand slid up to the waistband of Robin’s green shorts, and slipped in. “And?” He prompted, even as he stroked down.  
  
“Ohhh - I’ll, I’ll leave all the wedding preparations to you,” Dick whimpered.  
  
“Very good, Robin.”  
  
“Batman —- nn — please —” Robin pushed down at Batman’s hand, trying to make him go faster. But the Batcomputer chirped just then, and Bruce stopped halfway through that twisting thing that always made Dick babble incoherently.  
  
“The invitations are ready.” He looked ready to put Robin back down to check the computer, but Dick flung his arms around Batman’s neck.  
  
“No, wait,” he said desperately. “Please, Batman, I need —”  
  
The chirping kept getting louder, and Batman’s face was turning darker — “What have I told you before, Robin?”  
  
“Wedding planning is the number one priority, but —” But he had a really huge boner and, god, if Batman didn’t get him off right  _now_  Robin was going to  _die_ and that damn chirping wasn’t getting any quieter —  
  
“Batman, Batman, please —”  
  
” _Nightwing, wake up!_ ”  
  
Dick jerked out of bed with a start, heart hammering, completely covered in sweat, and still semi-aroused for some reason. First order of business, once the wedding was over: get laid. Multiple times. And never let Bruce organise anything ever again.   
  
… Maybe look into digging up his old Robin costume, while he was at it.  
  
Dick groped around for his beeping communicator, quickly switching it on. “Here, Oracle. What’s up?”  
  
A quick glance at his bedside clock showed the digits 03:11 glowing large and green. It was officially the day of the wedding, a prospect that made a flutter of excitement grow in the pit of Dick’s stomach.  
  
“Seems we have a new baddie in town. The Knitter. He’s got quilted minions, and he’s already managed to wreck the docks just off Gotham Bridge. I’ve had the Birds on him for the last two hours, but —”  
  
“Babs, if this is some kind of joke because I’m going to get married tomorrow —”  
  
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. This guy’s got knitting needles and he isn’t afraid to use them. And trust me, those things can be nasty in the right hands. Or wrong hands, as it were. I’m just about to dispatch Batgirl, Red Robin and —”  
  
“No, leave them out. I’ll get down and deal with this myself.” Dick was already pulling his suit on.  
  
He could practically see Babs raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got less than four hours to your own wedding, you realise.”   
  
“Gee, Babs, I totally forgot!” He grabbed a stray gauntlet from under his bed. “No, seriously, I want to get this sorted out and I  _don’t_  want Bruce to find out. Keep this out of the news feeds.”  
  
“Got it, Short Pants. Good luck.”  
  
Dick grunted as he clicked off the communicator, grabbing his escrima sticks with one hand and applying his mask with the other.  _Of course_  it had been too much to ask for one night of peace, this was Gotham, after all. But he’d go out, deal with this, and be back for the wedding in one piece. Nightwing had dealt with worse.  
  
  
  
 **4th April, 4.30am**  
  
After a fitful few hours of sleep, it was finally time for Bruce to get up and out of bed. Alfred was already in his suite, laying out a light meal by the side table. Just sandwiches and coffee — in truth, Bruce wasn’t sure he could stomach anything more. An unfamiliar churning seemed to have overtaken his digestive system.   
  
He looked up at Alfred, who was just stepping out of the walk-in closet with Bruce’s suit for the morning. “Has the florist confirmed that they’re bringing over the additional wreaths at five o’ clock?”  
  
“Just last evening , sir.”  
  
“Call them again and —”  
  
“I shall do no such thing,” Alfred said, and the sternness of his tone had Bruce biting back the protest on his tongue.   
  
Instead, he began to say. “We should check that the caterers —”  
  
“They have already arrived,” Alfred interrupted. “And are setting up in the kitchens as we speak. Now please eat your food, and trust everyone to do their jobs as assigned, Master Bruce.”  
  
Bruce frowned at the black forest ham and brie sandwich in his hand. “But—”  
  
“And trust that  _I_  will ensure everything goes smoothly, sir.”  
  
Bruce couldn’t argue with that; not when it was Alfred, the only person other than Dick who had been with him through his highest and lowest points.   
  
“Alright,” he conceded, though a note of reluctance lingered in his voice. He swallowed down his trepidation with a sip of espresso.  
  
“Your father was exactly like this, you know.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Alfred bent over the dresser, laying out Bruce’s cuff-links, tie, and the cologne that Dick liked to buy for him every birthday. “He too single-handedly gave the caterer a nervous breakdown in his bid to arrange the perfect wedding. Like Master Dick, your mother had to cut him down to size.”  
  
Bruce blinked. For a moment, he said nothing, then cleared his throat. “Yes. Well.”  
  
He bit into his sandwich, giving his mouth something to do. As it happened, Dick had given him a piece of his mind after Bruce had made some… poorly-worded comments on the wisdom of allowing Dick to organise the details of his own wedding suit.   
  
( _Really_ , anyone who had any idea of Dick’s fashion sense would have surely agreed with Bruce. The man thought it was perfectly acceptable to pair a turtle neck sweater with plaid pants and sandals, and it was only his exceptional good looks that kept him from looking ridiculous.)  
  
But the suit incident had merely been the last straw, according to Dick. In hindsight, Bruce could concede that making the wedding planner cry for two hours straight had, perhaps, been somewhat unnecessary. But he had so wanted that one specific model of white chiavari chairs; the detailing on it would have matched the set-up of his mother’s gardens perfectly.  
  
When he tried to explain this, Dick had simply pushed him into a wall, and declared that he didn’t care what the chairs looked like as long, didn’t even care if all their family and friends had to sit on the grass. Celebrating the occasion with them was, after all, the whole point of having a proper wedding — instead of the simple trip to City Hall they’d originally intended. Then he had proceeded to kiss Bruce breathless, before getting on his knees to blow him, right there in the hallway of the Manor where anyone could stumble upon them.   
  
(No one had, fortunately, and all in all, it had been an acceptable conclusion to that particular fiasco.)  
  
That his father had similarly strong feelings about the running of a wedding — the thought made his stomach drop. Not because he was ashamed to be compared to this father, as such… very much the opposite, in fact.  
  
Bruce just wished he could be here. Mother, too.   
  
Alfred’s hand came to a gentle rest on his shoulder, and Bruce looked up to see him holding out a watch box.  
  
“I know your parents would have been overjoyed to see this day for you, Master Bruce,” Alfred said quietly. “And I did not have the honour of knowing the Graysons’ personally, but I am certain they would have won over by the sheer happiness that has enveloped him since you both began your courtship.”  
  
Courtship — that rather traditional term had Bruce smiling, just slightly, even as his chest tightened. Seeming to understanding that words were beyond him in that moment, Alfred simply opened up the box. Bruce didn’t recognise the watch inside, but it was beautiful. Clearly vintage, with leather straps and an ivory face set with silver markings.   
  
“Formerly under the ownership of John Grayson,” Alfred explained. “Master Richard was keen on my suggestion for you to wear it. If you are so inclined.”  
  
The contraction of Bruce’s chest was almost painful now. He simply nodded, not taking his eyes off the watch. Alfred set it down, still cushioned in the box, and Bruce could hear the quiet smile in his voice as he said, “I’ll see you downstairs shortly, sir.”  
  
  
  
 **4th April, 4.59am**  
  
Nightwing slammed an escrima stick into the back of the thug’s knees, before hitting him in his stomach, and then across his shoulders. The man went down with a grunt, but Dick was already dealing with the next mook. To his left, Black Canary efficiently dispatched another pair of henchmen, and he could hear the other Birds of Prey doing the same in various parts of the vicinity.  
  
“Zero-five-hundred hours,” Oracle announced in his ear. “You need to get a move on, Nightwing.”  
  
Dick only grunted in reply, being otherwise occupied with sending an on-rushing group of thugs falling over like bowling pins with a spin-kick. According to the schedule, he only had half an hour to get to the Manor so he could get ready for his own wedding. But dealing with the quilt monsters had taken longer than expected, and they still needed to fight their way through the henchmen armed with knitting needles and massive boulders of yarn to get to The Knitter’s inner circle.  
  
Any way he looked at the situation, he’d be cutting it  _very_  fine indeed. He’d be lucky to even get to the ceremony on time, and that —  _was just not on_.  
  
“Augh!” He punched the next mook with more force than strictly necessary, kicked him back with a brutal kick, which took care of another two.   
  
“Ladies, let’s wrap this up quick,” he growled, in between flipping his way into the inner sanctum. “I’m not letting some jackass who calls himself the KNITTER make me late to my own WEDDING!”  
  
As the Birds yelled their agreement, the thunk of his escrima stick as it knocked out his next assailant was particularly satisfying.   
  
  
  
 **4th April, 6.20am**  
  
Sunrise hovered over Martha’s Wayne’s gardens, casting a dark amber glow over the proceedings. Some of the guests were seated, while others stood laughing and mingling nearby. Bruce watched them all from his spot by the altar — a broad archway appended with vines, silk ribbons and white tulips. The Titans were having a particularly noisy reunion on the left side — it was hard to miss Starfire’s flaming hair or Beast Boy flirting with anything on two legs. The team that had been with Dick during his transition into Nightwing was all present, it seemed — except Dick himself, Bruce couldn’t help observing with a pang.  
  
He turned away, and checked his watch yet again. 0620. He had expected Dick to be out by now.   
  
“Looks like you’ve got quite a sizeable crowd here.”  
  
Bruce glanced up with a frown. “Just friends and family, Clark.”  
  
The other man smiled back at him. “For someone so adamant about keeping people away, you seem to have amassed quite a collection of them.”  
  
“Hh.” Where was Dick? Bruce hadn’t even seen him come onto the grounds. He smoothed his palms over the front of his jacket, trying to even out his breathing.  
  
A strong hand landed on his shoulder. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”  
  
Bruce glared. “I’m not nervous.”   
  
Tim bounded up just then, mercifully interrupting Clark from whatever sage reply he was about to spout. “Everything’s almost set, Bruce. We’re just waiting for the priest. And, uh, Dick.”  
  
It took some effort not to tense up at that. “Noted,” Bruce forced out between gritted teeth. He watched as Tim nodded and hurried off to usher Zatanna to her seat.   
  
“Have you seen Ollie?” Clark asked, no doubt attempting to distract Bruce. “I don’t think he’s recovered from that cocktail you mixed from him at the Stag Night, what did—”  
  
“What have I told you, Clark?” Bruce growled. His eyes narrowed as he observed Barbara speaking to Wally at the entrance to the gardens.   
  
“I’m curious if that was payback for the strippers he hired, but I’m surprised you didn’t just—”   
  
“We’re not talking about that,” Bruce snapped. “Ever.”  
  
Clark said something in reply, but Bruce paid him no heed. Conversation over, Barbara was wheeling her chair back to the front end of the garden — and Wally was striding away, and towards the Manor.  
  
Bruce forced himself to tear his gaze away, and explain to Clark that no, he was not going to forgive Queen for paying a stripper clad in a skimpy Nightwing-inspired swimsuit to give Bruce a lap-dance, and yes, that cocktail had been spiked with a large amount of barbiturates. Also no, he had not one ounce of remorse for it.  
  
  
  
 **4th April, 6.33am**  
  
When Wally set Dick back on the ground, it was in Dick’s room at the Manor. Alfred was there already, laying out Dick’s suit and accoutrements on the bed.   
  
Dick took that as a sign to start pulling off his suit. “Did Babs give you a heads up, Alfie?”   
  
“Indeed, Master Dick.” Alfred made a show of checking his pocket watch. “And as you are already running quite late, I suggest you make haste to take a shower before I help you get dressed and ready.”  
  
“On it,” Dick said, already half-undressed. Turning to Wally, he added, “Thanks for the lift, Wally.”  
  
“Anytime, bro.” Wally grinned, as they shared a fist-bump. “I’ll head back down, I’m sure Bruce is due for the inevitable aneurysm right now.”  
  
Dick, who was already halfway into the shower, threw a gauntlet after him. “Dude, don’t even joke about that!”  
  
“Master Dick,” Alfred said reprovingly.   
  
“Sorry, Alf.” Except he wasn’t, really, because his stomach twisted horribly at the thought of Bruce standing by the altar by himself, in front of all their friends, waiting. Wondering why Dick hadn’t showed yet. Worrying.  
  
It was a good thing that Dick was used to doing things quickly -– whether changing into his nightclothes at the drop of a dime, or making himself scarce as was necessary for any Bat -– it meant he could get into the shower, lather his body and hair up with soap, and get rinsed, dry, and back out into his room in no time.  
  
“How’s Bruce doing, Alfred?” Dick asked, as he began pulling on his clothing.  
  
“Concerned, sir.” Alfred stepped forward with the periwinkle-blue tie Dick would be wearing with his suit. “As you know, he was keen for his meticulously organised schedule to proceed as planned.”  
  
Dick sighed, even as he tried not to fidget. “I know, Alfred.”   
  
He stared at the silk material as Alfred looped and tied it into a respectable Windsor knot. This close, he could see the fine threads lining it. “Lovely tie,” he said, trying to give his mind something else to focus on.  
  
“Indeed.” Alfred flipped the long arm of the tie over, indicating the monogrammed label on the back:  _TW_.   
  
A lump seemed to take residence in Dick’s throat. “This belonged to Bruce’s dad?” he whispered, fingering the cloth delicately.   
  
“One of his favourites, in fact.” Alfred stepped back to take up Dick’s jacket.   
  
“Alfie… what would… do you think they’d have liked me? Bruce’s parents?” He tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice, even as he slipped his arms into the blazer sleeves.   
  
Armed with a comb, Alfred pushed him down into a chair. “I feel confident in saying that they would have loved you very much, Master Dick. And they would have been proud to have you as a son-in-law. Now, dab on some of that cologne while I attempt to put your hair into some semblance of order.”  
  
Dick ducked his head, even as he complied with the instructions, trying to hide the little smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. Of course, no one would ever be able to replace Thomas and Martha Wayne — but he hoped they’d approve of his intent to do everything (and more) to give Bruce both peace and happiness.  
  
And that, Dick thought, as Alfred tucked a silk handkerchief into his jacket’s breast pocket, had to start with him getting his butt down to the wedding as soon as possible.  
  
  
  
 **4th April, 7.03am**  
  
As the minister stepped into place, it seemed most of the guests were seated. Bruce began fiddling with his tie and collar, before catching himself. Alfred wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but Bruce could imagine his look of disapproval.   
  
Most likely, he was busy back in the Manor, fussing over Dick’s tie or hair. That was the best case scenario for why Dick was ten minutes late, anyway. Bruce tried not to think about the worst case scenario.   
  
He distracted himself by surveying the gathered guests. His family took up the entire front row, along with Clark (who was still smiling like a buffoon) and Lois. Leslie and Selina sat together chatting, the latter unsurprisingly fashionable and beautiful as always in a black silk dress. Further down, Steph waved at him from beside Barbara and Jim. Bruce frowned, unsure if he was expected to wave back, and shifted his gaze.   
  
Diana, Donna, Roy, Lian, Ollie, who had his head in his hands and appeared to be moaning about a hangover… Bruce scanned the row, and noted that Wally had apparently re-joined the proceedings. Bruce could disregard the possibility that West had eloped with Dick, at least.  
  
Caught up in his musings, Bruce almost missed the sudden cheers that suddenly erupted throughout the crowd — and then his eyes settled at the back of the gardens, to the end of the colourful aisle strewn with flower petals of various types and shades (Bruce knew that Dick enjoyed a splash of colour). Dick was hurrying up the flower-strewn pathway with long, swift strides, handsome and radiant in his [white suit](http://st00pz.tumblr.com/post/30807998334/30-days-otp-challenge-26-getting-married-ahaha), and a wide, sunny smile lighting up his face.  
  
“Hey,” he said softly, as he sidled into place. His eyes and smile softened to that special gaze that had always belonged to Bruce and Bruce only.  
  
As their hands joined together, Bruce found that his throat had seized up. He couldn’t say anything back to Dick, like  _I’m glad you’re here_  or  _thank you_  or  _I love you_ , but the minister had begun his spiel and that would have been rude, anyway.   
  
But Bruce  _could_  recall again why this seemed like such a good idea in the first place. If he were the sentimental type, he might even have said that his heart burst, just a little. Instead, he just returned Dick’s smile with a secret one of his own, and gripped his lover’s hands tight.

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

**EPILOGUE**  
  
 **4th April, 5.26pm**  
  
Dick was sprawled on the large, soft bed in their hotel suite, stripped down to just his half-buttoned shirt and boxers, watching television without really registering any of the images or sounds. After the early morning exercise, the wedding ceremony, and then the hours-long (not to mention dance-and-alcohol-heavy) brunch reception afterwards, he was reduced to a mass of happy and buzzed and exhausted limbs.   
  
Though he’d have to thank Alfred for suggesting they spend the night at a luxury hotel in Gotham — they’d only be leaving for the Maldives proper the next evening, but this way Bruce and Dick still had some time alone, together, away from everything and everyone else.  
  
Their first night as a married couple, just the two of them.   
  
Jeez. Dick couldn’t stop a foolish grin from turning up his mouth, and he covered his face with a pillow even as Bruce came out of the shower.  
  
“Surely it’s too early to try and kill yourself because you’re frustrated about being married.”  
  
“Mffm,” Dick said, muffled by the pillow. He pulled it away to look up at Bruce, who was scrubbing at his hair with a towel. Another towel hung low on his hips, and Dick couldn’t keep his eyes off the man’s body.  
  
Bruce gestured at Dick’s prone form, even as he rubbed the cloth over the backs of his ears. “Are you planning to get cleaned up?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said eventually, still staring at Bruce’s sculpted torso. He did need a shower, but… “I figure I’m gonna get a little more dirty soon enough,” he added, with a little smirk.  
  
Bruce rolled his eyes and threw his hair towel at Dick, who caught it with a laugh. “Don’t be crude.” He turned away to dig around in their suitcase. “You were late today. Did something happen?”   
  
Dick knew him too well to miss the note of anxiety underlying the feigned nonchalance in his tone. “Hey,” he said firmly, propping himself up on his elbows. “Bruce.  _Bruce._  Come here.”  
  
A few moments passed before Bruce would meet his eyes, and another few before he stepped towards the bed. Dick yanked him down the moment he was close enough.  
  
“I did not have second thoughts,” Dick said firmly, rolling them over so that he had Bruce pinned down — as much as the man could be pinned down, anyway. He leaned down to trap him in a greedy, unyielding kiss.  
  
“Not about this,” he gasped into Bruce’s mouth, when they both pulled back panting for air. “Never about this, Bruce.”  
  
Bruce wrapped an arm around Dick’s shoulders, keeping him close, and pressing Dick’s warm body flush against his cool, still damp skin. “Sometimes I wonder what you see in me.”  
  
His voice was too low for it to be a joke, and he said it while stroking Dick’s clavicle and very decidedly not looking at him. It took some self-control for Dick to keep from throttling the man. That Bruce still doubted himself like this, even after all this time, was immensely frustrating. But it did fuel Dick’s determination to prove indubitably that Bruce was the only thing he wanted. End of story.   
  
For the moment, though, he smiled into Bruce’s chest, patting it reassuringly. “That tall, dark and broody thing is pretty hot.”   
  
He tilted his head up to steal another kiss, trying to express his sincerity through the gesture. Bruce always did better with actions, after all. But one kiss turned to three, five, ten; just the feel of Bruce’s naked skin — god, those hard, strong muscles — was enough to stir arousal in Dick’s gut. Then his lover’s hands began roaming under Dick’s shirt, stroking his stomach and tweaking his nipples, and Dick couldn’t really think about much other than the fact that it had been too long since they were together like this.   
  
And now that they were, it was as  _husbands_.  
  
 _Wow_.   
  
With a groan, Dick shifted to grope at the bedside table. Still keeping close to Bruce — because Dick did not want those hands and that hot, wet mouth anywhere else except right there on his body — but just enough to reach inside the toiletry bag he’d tossed out of the suitcase earlier.   
  
It took some fumbling, between which Bruce had managed to suck a hickey onto his neck  _and_  stroke him through his boxer briefs (he’d always been such a damn multi-tasker). Dick was definitely, painfully hard by the time his hand wrapped around the bottle of lube, and it was with a strangled moan that he pulled away from Bruce’s strong, warm body. Or tried to, at least.  
  
“Hnn — come on, B, let me—” He poked the muscled chest under his with the lube.  
  
Bruce grunted in protest, but his arms loosened their grip around Dick’s shoulders — and his mouth was curved up in a grin, eyes glittering. He didn’t smile so openly like this very often, and Dick cherished every instance.   
  
He returned the smile with a crooked one of his own. “Gonna fuck you, babe,” he said hoarsely, shifting back to part Bruce’s thighs.  
  
It took a bit of concentration to make sure the lube got on his fingers rather than on the sheets, but he didn’t want to look away from Bruce. It wasn’t just because the man naked and smiling and sprawled out on the bed for Dick to have his way with, surrendering himself in a way he never did for anyone else. It was also the fact that he was  _there_  — that they were both there. Married. That Bruce, who had always been so intensely private, wanted to declare to the world that he was in love with Dick Grayson and was committed to him for forever and —  
  
— And Dick was going to do something embarrassing like cry during sex if he kept on that trail of thought, so he busied himself by slowly sliding a finger in between Bruce’s spread legs. That got him a little hitch of breath that, wow, Dick really wanted to hear again.  
  
“Another,” Bruce said lowly, between deep, long inhales and exhales, shifting to curl one of his legs around Dick’s waist. The contrast of his strong, scarred body against the white sheets took sent tingles down Dick’s spine, warming the pit of his gut.   
  
Dick squeezed Bruce’s hip with his free hand. “You’re too tight.” But he gently slipped a second finger in to join the first, pumping them in and out before carefully progressing to scissoring and curling them.   
  
Bruce grabbed the hand on his hip — Dick’s left hand — and laced their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over Dick’s wedding band. “I trust you.”  
  
That simultaneously sent warmth pooling through Dick’s body, making him even more aroused, and also had him wincing, just a little. But if he was going to come clean to Bruce at some point anyway, it was probably best to do it while he was fucking the man with his fingers and thus otherwise distracting him. Or something.  
  
“So, uh, remember that wedding present I was busy with?” he breathed, adding a third digit.  
  
Bruce drew in a very slight gasp at the sudden breach, but recovered quickly to raise an eyebrow. “Yes?”  
  
“I, ah. I made a little tour of our little rogues gallery,” Dick confessed, even as his fingers probed around. “Sort of intimated that they should keep out of sight for a while, or I’d let Robin string them up by the balls.”  
  
Bruce huffed out a laugh. “That doesn’t sound like Damian’s style.”  
  
“Ha, but  _they_  don’t know that.” Dick paused as his fingers hit a particular spot. Stroking it had Bruce drawing in another sharp breath, and very nearly arching off the bed —  _score_. With a triumphant little smirk, Dick rubbed his lover’s prostate over and over, loving how it had Bruce coming undone right in front of him. Bruce’s thick cock lay thick and heavy over his sculpted stomach, starting to leak pre-come and  _throbbing_  and Dick couldn’t keep from groaning at the sight of it.   
  
“Want you so bad, boss, I —”   
  
“Finish your story,” Bruce rumbled, all hoarse and Batman-gravelly.  
  
“Fuck, Bruce.” Dick pulled his fingers out and disentangled his other hand, focusing instead on slicking his cock and trying to collect his thoughts enough to answer Bruce’s command. Bruce shifted up — panting as much as Dick was, and wasn’t that a satisfying sight — and snagged the lube from Dick. He was shaking, too, both of them trying to last long enough to get a decent bit of fucking in, but Dick very nearly lost it when Bruce’s hand wrapped over his cock.  
  
As it was, he had to lean into Bruce and bite down even as his partner lathered him up with the slick.   
  
“I didn’t want anything to ruin the wedding,” Dick heaved, distracting himself with talking. Suddenly it was  _sweltering_  in the room. He couldn’t breathe or see straight, and oh  _God_ , why did Bruce have to do that teasing thing with his finger over the slit of Dick’s cock, that always made him howl and shot his focus to  _hell_ — “I kn-knew how much you wanted everything to — ohhhh — go well, and…”  
  
“I wanted it to go well for you, Dick.” Bruce’s voice was ragged and husky, and when he pulled away to unbutton the rest of Dick’s shirt, his eyes were heavy-lidded and  _dark_. “I wanted it to be perfect for  _you_.”  
  
Dick curled his fingers — not the sticky ones — into Bruce’s tousled hair, and yanked him in for a filthy kiss full of tongue and teeth. It carried on for a while, and they might have just ended up grinding and jacking each other off in their impatience, earlier preparation be damned — but when Bruce’s hands brushed over a tender spot on Dick’s flank, he couldn’t help breaking away with a pained hiss.  
  
Bruce practically tore the remnants of Dick’s shirt off, growling at the fresh black-blue mark that was revealed. “What’s this?”  
  
“It’s a bruise, you neanderthal.” Dick shoved Bruce’s hand’s away, and pushed him back on the bed. The fierce possessiveness in his lover’s tone had his blood racing, even as it made him scowl just a little. “A new baddie wannabe decided to make his big Gotham début last night, all right? That’s why I was late to the wedding. And if you say anything about it, I swear to God I will actually hit you.”  
  
But after a long moment of just staring back at him with those intense blue eyes, Bruce only swallowed hard, and nodded. His hand reached out to gently squeeze Dick’s hip, well below the bruise. “Are you going to —?”   
  
That dark, glittering gaze raised goose bumps all over Dick’s arms, but he managed to keep his smile sharp and sweet. “Thought you’d never ask.”  
  
===  
  
Every time they did it like this, it seemed like just the  _feel_  of Bruce clenched around the length of his cock would be enough to fuel Dick’s wank fantasies for at least a month. Just — the hot slickness of their bodies, connected so deeply and intimately, the sight of Bruce on his back, heaving and completely giving himself up to Dick — it was too much, not enough, and utterly  _perfect_.   
  
Dick squeezed the calf locked around his shoulder, cradling Bruce’s hip with his other hand. “You feel so damn good, Bruce. So damn  _tight_.”  
  
“You can stand to—” Bruce didn’t have much leverage in his position, but he was strong enough still to rock back, disrupting Dick’s careful rhythm — “Go a little faster.”  
  
“Stop that,” Dick complained, shifting to wrap a hand around Bruce’s heavy cock. His thrusts sped up. “I’m going to end up fucking you so hard that you won’t let me do this again.”  
  
“Oh?” Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut, even as a moan escaped his mouth. It was all so unguarded, and Dick could never get enough of seeing Bruce like this. That he now had an entire lifetime to do just that only made whatever blood was left in his head rush down to his cock. He couldn’t stop his his hips from snapping in harder, in time with his strokes and twists up Bruce’s throbbing erection.  
  
“Yeah,” Punctuating the word with a deeper thrust that had Bruce jerking up with a hiss, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the sheets harder — “Ride you till you can’t walk properly. For a  _week_.”   
  
Bruce’s mouth, red from where he’d bitten into it, lifted in an easy smile. “Good thing I’ve —  _ah_  — a husband,” — and Dick had to suck air into his lungs right then and there because,  _fuck_ , Bruce looked so painfully handsome, loose and breathless and soaked in perspiration, and all of it because of Dick and Dick alone — “To take care of me, in that case.”  
  
Dick huffed, a pleased little laugh, even as a thrill of pleasure whispered down his spine. “Not going to let anyone else do that, babe.”   
  
The banter went on, but with Bruce clenching so hot and tight around him, Dick wasn’t even sure the sounds coming out of his mouth were words any longer — the world seemed to be narrowing itself to the exquisite feeling of them both, together. No one else and nothing else but the near-obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, the musky scent of sex and sweat mingled with the sweetness of the lube, the heat of their bodies, the creaks of the bed over their whispered pleas and groans. Dick’s thrusts became faster and shallower, and Bruce’s little hitches and moans only drove him closer to the edge.   
  
“I’ve got you, Bruce,” he rasped, when it seemed like he really couldn’t take any more, as he twisted his palm up and down Bruce’s cock. “Come for me, please…  _I’ve got you_.”  
  
“Anything,” Bruce groaned. He released one of his fists from the sheets, and in an echo of his gesture much earlier, shifted it to grasp Dick’s hand. The hand that kept Bruce down on the bed — the one that held a gold wedding band on the fourth finger. “Beautiful bird. Anything for you.”  
  
And he made good on his word, coming messily between them within the next sharp thrust. The tremors of his muscles tightening around Dick’s cock, and the sight of Bruce letting go completely like that — face twisting, completely stripped of the mask he wore around everyone else, sheer  _love_  and affection in his voice as he invoked Dick’s name — any of those alone would have been enough. As it was, Dick managed just a few more haphazard thrusts before his vision narrowed to sheer white, and a long, shuddering groan ripped out of him as he came.  
  
At some point after, he must have pulled out to collapse on the bed beside Bruce. Dick assumed that was what happened, because it took a while before the boneless, wondrous feeling seeping through him dissipated enough for coherent thought to re-enter his mind. When it finally did, Dick found himself cuddled with Bruce on the sheets, both of them a wonderfully tangled mess of sweaty, sticky limbs.  
  
Bruce was petting down his hair, running his fingers through the damp and tousled locks. “You still need a shower.”  
  
Dick just grinned and clung even harder. “You’ll need to carry me there. Maybe soap me up while you’re at it. That’s totally a husbandly kind of duty, right?”  
  
“Makes sense,” Bruce said, smiling.  
  
“There’s a handbook I can —” Dick cut himself short with a yelp, as Bruce very quickly lifted Dick into a bridal-style carry with barely a grunt. Annoyingly, despite their aggressive sex earlier, the man didn’t seem to have too much trouble walking.   
  
Well — maybe it wasn’t  _that_  annoying.  
  
Moving over to the bathroom, Bruce kicked the door open. “How am I doing so far?”   
  
Dick wrapped his arms around his husband’s neck — and holy matrimony, Batman,  _husband_ , wasn’t that still an incredibly wonderful and surreal thought? — with a big grin. “Draw me a bubble bath, and we’ll talk, Mr. Grayson-Wayne.”   
  
Bruce raised an eyebrow, but Dick just laughed and silenced the inevitable counter-argument with a long, thorough kiss. After all, they had the rest of their lives to continue the conversation.

 

 


End file.
